Dread Carefully
by Gunz Ablaze
Summary: Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Despite that though, I continued down the hole; like a morbid Alice looking for Wonderland. "And how does that make you feel?" Like I'm walking on thin ice and there's a monster there, just waiting for me to fall under.
1. One A Day Will Die

**This is a yaoi story that I thought was interesting to put in the archives. I've been reading some good yaoi with plot involving Walter and Henry and would like to give it a shot.**

**I don't own Silent Hill and never will, please be courteous and review, reviews give me the inspiration to write more. Just to inform you I know when people are reading this story and it really does aggravate me when I know that people are reading but I only get two reviews.**

**Don't be lazy, and please don't flame. I have a habit for being a bit of a monster when people flame me.**

* * *

It felt unusual, sitting in one place, being told to tell your life's story all focused on one moment. Honestly, I sometimes wanted to slap the suppose 'doctor,' what with his repetitive question of "and how did that make you feel?" I was practically paying the man to hear myself talk, didn't I come for help? In my mind I obviously wasn't getting any.

"So, lets begin where we left off yesterday Mr. Townshend."

The man across the desk from me wore the casual old teal suit, his long dirty blond hair was soothed and pulled back by way too much gel giving it a very oily look, without the sturdy ointment his bangs reached about to his shoulders but I had only once seen them down. He had a professional voice, taught to be cool toned so in order to keep the patients relaxed and calm, however it only put me on edge as I knew a lot better than to trust him just from his smooth tenor.

It was his eyes that gave him away, his eyes that kept me from telling him everything about me, my life, and the whole story that had occurred in the apartment. They were bright green, hiding shimmering gold treasures. Two dangerous colors clashed so greatly that I was reminded of a snake.

And snake-like he was, because he looked too much like _him. _The dirty blond hair, the eyes, the rough five 'o' clock shadow, the voice was a little off but it didn't matter. They looked too much the same.

"It's not helping." I did not make eye contact, but instead held my gaze on the picture framed mahogany red walls, looking at the certificates of degree and small pictures of recognizable vacation spots; beaches, forests, places that would have someone relax and imagine themselves at.

I hear him tap at his clipboard with the back of his pen, held nimbly in his large and calloused hands. The sound reminded me of a lock, ticking away the seconds. I counted in my head, one...two...three... "Why do you say that, Henry?" He considered himself at first name basis, but I never called him anything other than "doc," if I could help it.

"Because," Glancing away from the walls I looked down at my hands, my calloused, scabbed, and dotty scared fingers that had knotted themselves together unconsciously. "I've been having the nightmares again." I lied. True, I was having nightmares but they had never went away to beginning with.

I heard the fabric of his large red chair pull at the cloth of his clothes as he leaned forward. Still I kept my eyes away and felt my body tighten at the close invasion of my personal space. "Have you been taking the mediation I prescribed?" I could swear that I was feeling his breath on my face, but I knew claustrophobia had me exaggerating.

Silently I nodded my head, and he must not have believed my answer because the clock like clicking stopped. I was looking at the floor now, digging my shoe into the gray carpet absentmindedly. I heard him sigh and finally he leaned back in his chair, making it so much easier for me to breath. "Henry, I know that before me you met with countless others in hopes to get help. I believe you even checked yourself into an asylum, did you not?"

I didn't answer, I didn't need to anyways as he went on. "All of which told me that you had problem's with the medication. You either flushed them, or hid the pills in your mouth to spit out later." I felt his gaze on me, as sharp as a knife; fitting.

"I can't help you if you don't let me, Henry." Suddenly my gaze was back on the wall and the clicking of his pen began again; wash, rinse, repeat. "Why not just take the medicine?"

I shook my head "It won't help."

I heard him mutter under his breath but I didn't bother to pick up on it. Instead his pen stopped clicking and the plain sound of messy scribbling threw off the mental counting I had been keeping track of.

"Let's just continue from, Tuesday." Finally, I looked at him. One leg crossed over the other, board balanced on his knee and his pen writing in chicken scratch that I couldn't make out from my red cushioned seat on the couch. His eyes were staring at his work, covered by the black frames of his reading glasses; which was just one of the very few things that I was able to use as contrast _between_ the two of them.

"I can't do it." I simply answered, and just like that my eyes were somewhere else as his were again on me. His staring after the first few days I began to meet with him, had quickly become a very annoying and bad habit.

"And why do you feel that, Mr. Townshend?" He only used my last name when he was stalling the fact that I wanted to avoid the storytelling.

I didn't answer him, allowing him to piece it together.

"Fine." He grumbled and uncrossed his legs. "Then I guess we ca-"

"I just-" It didn't go the way I wanted, the adult in me kicked the child in me out from behind the reins. "I don't think it's working. I want help, yes. But am I really getting that by just talking about my feelings?" I growled and felt my hands finally break apart and take place on my knee's. "That's not what I need, I need something else..."

"So, you feel that you need to talk about the incident itself?" Sudden pain laced from my knees and I notice that its from my white knuckled grip I now had of them. Taking a long deep gulp of the stale room air I loosened my hold and moved them to clench at the couch instead.

Slowly, I nodded my head and heard the clicking of his pen return once again.

"Well then, I don't see what's stopping us. Other then your need to be so-" He cleared his throat and I'm almost glad that he's so straightforward in admitting his annoyance with me. "Alright Henry, let's start with the beginning then."

I nodded and shifted myself in my seat so as to lean back. I tried to get comfortable for the long story that was about to be told.

"Tell me what happened in Room 302. What happened in South Ashfield Heights."


	2. Friendly

**Thank all of you who were kind enough to review the first chapter of my story and who were nice enough to give me tips. After a long wait I give you the second chapter of Dread Carefully, and leave you with it for another half of a year before I ever update again.**

**If anyone sees anything that could be improved or something wrong with my grammar, please don't hesitate to correct me in a review.**

**Please, do review.**

* * *

The best way to describe my room of the apartment is 'grey.' When I first paid for the key and unlocked the door of 302 I saw paper white walls and dark brown carpet. The old smell of mothballs and bleach had taken me days to try and air out, eventually though; I had gotten used to the smell and gave up.

The room was pre-furnished; a nice worn in couch, chair, TV, VRC, coffee table, and in the only bedroom there a desk. I had come to Ashfield in the first place to get some work done on the pictures I had taken from the last town over. Renting a room to stay in was really only a temporary plan until I had finished up my deadlines and found some more work to do.

* * *

"You told me that you were a photographer. What sort of things did you take pictures of?" I shrugged, staring not at him but at the ceiling. Doc patiently waited for his answer, catching up to the story in writing his thoughts on his clipboard.

"Just things…Normally what the employer would request." I nonchalantly answered, _that_ job had taken me back to a familiar place. I was hired to do some shots of landmarks in Silent Hill…_Silent Hill_…

I tried not to show my small shudder at the thought that had just passed through my head. Silent Hill may have just as well been the cause of my suffering. I had first found it hard to believe that such a beautiful place could have had such a dark and demonic history about it. But after all that had happened the small 'peaceful' village might of well had been the devil's summer home.

"Continue."

* * *

I had stayed in South Ashfield for about two weeks before I met one of my neighbors. The room that I always thought was empty beside mine was actually home to Miss. Eileen Galvin. I had bumped into her in the hallway after a trip to the store for some groceries.

She was a nice woman, and when she had ran into me, causing my bags to spill, she helped picked up the produce and gave me a light apologetic smile.

"Sorry about that, I didn't see you coming." I nervously smiled back at her and her attempt at making conversation.

"That's alright." I gladly accepted her help and gathered back my groceries. It was when I took a step closer to my door, and dug out my key from my pocket, that we really had gotten to know who one another was.

"Oh! Are you Henry?" I was a little shocked that she knew my name when I didn't really show up often around the apartment. I barely left my room except if I needed to pay rent or go shopping. I gave her a small smile though and nodded my head.

"Um, yeah." My answer gave away my confusion, earning myself a very light but warm giggle.

"I'm sorry, that was awkward." She smiled, "I got your name from Mr. Sunderland." That made sense, with as friendly as she seemed to be it didn't surprise me to find out she and Frank were close.

It was then that she gave me her name, and told me she lived just a wall away from me. I was a little surprised that we had been living so close while I hadn't heard much from the room next to mine.

Eileen Galvin was ordinary, not really someone you would notice in a crowd unless you had bumped into her. Her hair kind of reminded me of my mothers, dark brown with small curls near the ends, but her eyes were her best feature. She had bright, green, almost jade, eyes; eyes that were as soft as clouds but something told me that they could become as dangerous and sharp as knives if she was angered. She had a warm smile, and an even warmer personality; one that would bring a smile to your own face and always want to talk to her.

I didn't though; I politely thanked her for the help, headed into my room, and closed the door behind me, locking it out of habit.


	3. Two A Day Will Cry

**Thank you all for those of you who were so kind enough to review and leave advice on grammar and punctuation mistakes. For any of those out there who are beta readers that enjoy this story and would like to work with me please feel free to message me in a comment on my page.**

**Here is chapter three of Dread Carefully, please review.**

* * *

The woman opposite of me chewed at her fingernails in anxiety, I couldn't help but watch her through my hanging bangs. She was small; a skinny flaky woman, who didn't appear to like eating more than what, was healthy. A pet peeve of mine was fingernails, I glanced between her and my own, neat and circle cut, I was probably one of the few men in the world who took such good care of their nails and hands.

She chewed away, her small pencil skirt riding up her thighs as she bounced her left leg, her red heels thumping the carpet floor in little sounds of 'thump, thump, thump.' I would have asked her to stop, to get a hold of herself, or just leave, but then I would be short of a model.

Her figure was that on my paper, traced hurriedly with hard pencil marks; the woman ebbed away at her fingers until they were bleeding, staining her panty-hoes that I had drawn ripped. I stopped sketching to look over my work _really _look over what I had drawn, and slapped my book closed, startling the nervous woman across from me. I gave a sheepish smile at her, "Sorry." She timidly gave a smile back, muttering a quick "s'okay." before going back to work at eating her fingernails off.

I looked back down in my lap at the notebook and glared, not at it, but at everything I had done with it in the time between now and yesterday. "This is your journal, Henry. I want you to write or draw any strong thoughts or emotions that strike your mind." Doc had smiled at me, when he handed over the old plain composition notebook. "Don't be shy; it's to help you relieve some of your stress. Write your goals for the day inside of it, or just some stray thoughts, it will help you get organized with yourself, physically and emotionally." I hadn't thought much about it.

The blank pages had quickly turned it into a scrapbook of horrors. Which was probably not the best thing that I could have done with the thing, considering that I needed to get past everything that was haunting me. That was probably why I had grabbed it before leaving for the appointment, with so much of the scrapes and pieces I had put inside of it, it was probably best that the notebook stayed with me rather than be left alone.

'Come on Henry, you know your just being paranoid. What's going to look through your journal when you're not home? The dust perhaps?' I was jumped out of the thoughts by the door, to the right of the woman, opening.

A man stood in the doorway, tall and prim, with his short brown hair and crooked nose. He looked at me and gave me a brief nod of the head and smile, before turning to the nervous woman beside him. "Mrs. Sheperd? Come on in and we'll get started." The woman hastily got up and followed him in, almost flinching away when he offered a pat on her shoulder. He watched her get seated in the office before turning back to me, gave me another nod of the head, and closed the door.

'Then there was one.' I pinched the bridge of my nose and sniffed, tucking away my notebook underneath my arm. I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, muddling through the thoughts that built up my head. 'It's going to be your turn soon, are you sure you can do this?'

"Henry?" Speaking of the devil, the door beside my own chair was opened with the sickening familiar face of my own 'doctor' smiling at me. "Shall we?" I nodded, and followed past him.

The room was monotonous as it had been yesterday. I had seen this man for more than a month now and nothing had changed since the first day I met him. It almost filled me with disgust at how ordinary the room was, how plain and uninteresting, colorless. I walked to the common chair and took my seat on the leather upholstery with a sigh.

I glanced at his desk, probably the most interesting thing in the room, save for the floor that I was so fond of staring at whenever we would get talking. Unlike so many of the doctors, psychologist, and therapists I had seen, his desk was the only one that was the most barren, save for a computer, phone, and few papers.

"Do you have any family?" I found myself asking, he; who had taken his seat opposite of me, smiled at my question, clipboard and pen already in his hand.

"Now Henry, we're here to talk about you." He snobbishly answered, his tone remained light and almost joking, but I couldn't help but picture him with his nose in the air thinking that I should 'mind my own business.'

"It's just that you don't have any pictures of a wife or any drawings that your kids might have done for you." I prattled on, unconsciously stalling the conversation that we would continue off from yesterday. Doc shook his head at me. _Doc_: I would call him by his name if I hadn't of forgotten it, too stubborn to ask for it again.

"I'm divorced with no children." Now, I felt sorry for the guy. "Let's continue from yesterday shall we? You had told me about Miss. Galvin before our time was up."

I already felt the knot forming in my throat and forced it down, licking my dried lips as I began again. 'You need the help' I thought, 'Take your time with the details in the normal life you had, and drag it on till you're ready.'

* * *

Time passed by faster than work did. I was easily able to pick up a few jobs from towns not too far, from people not wanting much but paying a lot. It didn't take long before I had found myself enjoying the place. The apartment was quiet; well, my room in the apartment was quiet. I stayed to my own, occasionally getting a knock on the door from Eileen who would ask if I wanted to do anything with her, small parties she went to, local charities, but I would always turn her down.

I never felt bad about the small heartbroken face she pulled; it would always perk up when I told her 'maybe next time.' Eventually though, she stopped coming to ask if I wanted to help out, not that I didn't think she was nice or anything, I had told her that I wasn't much of an outgoing person, I just preferred to stay by myself with my work and time. She seemed to understand and since then left me alone. Along with Frank, the Superintendent, who occasionally would knock to remind about rent, eventually stopped because I would always pay a week ahead of time.

I had made a small life for myself, although not permanent, was home. The most that I would do besides work was read through some magazine, look out my window, and watch TV. Many would call me a hermit, even dad did, but I didn't care.

I knew the rest of the guests of the apartment through their room number. I didn't personally try to get to know people because work would often have me leave for a long time or even permanently, plus I was never any good with talking. Outside my window though, I got to know all about my 'neighbors.' Not personally of course and I didn't make it a habit to spy on them, I would just stare out the window and catch them as they passed their own.

Life was normal in South Ashfield, and I was happy living there…Until I got a knock on the door.

It was a normal day, when I when normally do some work, going about my normal life. I was interrupted by a loud tapping from my apartment door. I didn't know who it could have been, Eileen had given up on me and Frank would leave well enough alone unless there was a bill to be paid. But by the time I had gotten to my living room to answer the door the knocking had stopped and there was a piece of paper slipped under the frame.

I picked it up, thinking maybe it had been Frank delivering a reminder about rent, but was faced with crayon written words and poor spelling. I stared at it for a few minutes, trying to make out the scribble but in the end just threw it away. I didn't think much about the kids from Room 206 but the prank was harmless so I let it be. I went about my week like normal.

* * *

"Did the children often play pranks like that?" I opened my closed eyes to raise a brow at him. Shaking my head I let out a loud yawn, glancing at the clock he had on the wall behind his desk, an hour had passed.

"No, at least I don't think they did. I didn't know them or the family really; I just assumed it was them. Kids like to play pranks…" Doc nodded and wrote something off on his board, which I ignored.

"From what you're describing to me, Mr. Townshend, you had a happy life is South Ashfield. So, what happened to make you so paranoid and unstable?" I grimaced, and turned my eyes away from him, back to staring at the clock, our session still had another hour. I heard him sigh and then a clatter, glancing back over to him to see that he had removed his glasses and tossed them to the table beside him.

"Mr. Townshend, I will not judge you based on your answer, and make note that anything and everything you say in this room is confidential and will never be revealed to anyone. I am under the very oath of patient confidentiality that was on those papers you signed before you even met me." I really read those papers.

"I know that Doc…It's just." I sighed "It's _really_ hard to believe."

"I'm a psychologist Henry, I've heard enough unbelievable stories to know what is true and not." I leaned back and covered my face, in attempt to hide a very wide smile. That excuse was always the first one out of the doctor's mouths, a vain attempt to get me to trust them.

The man leaned forward as I removed my hand. "I'm not going to tell you that it's okay to tell me what happened, but whatever did happen, talking about it is why you're here, and why I'm getting paid." I smirked at his brutal honesty.

"That sounded kinda cold, Doc." He shrugged and crossed one leg over the other.

"It's the truth." He reached for his glaces and placed them back on his nose "And the truth is entirely up to you whether you want to tell me it or not." I smiled, not at him, but at the image I saw of _him:_ the man he so looked like. The side of his head oozing blood as he lay on the floor, his mouth agape with his tongue, stabbed to the ground by his pen. His eyes gouged and glass filled, shards embedded into his retinas. "Henry?"

I felt like my smile, maybe looked more fake than real and I opening my eyes that I had closed, I licked my lips again. There he was, in his chair, unbeaten, unscathed, still a _look alike _of the man that haunts me. I let out a shaky sigh and rubbed my temples, beginning to wonder if maybe I should take the pills he prescribed, instead of feeding them to the garbage disposal. "Are you alright? Do you want to stop for the day?"

I shook my head, we still had an hour left. "No, let's…let's continue."

"Let's restart at what you've been trying to avoid telling me, Henry." He offered me something; I looked down to see it was a tissue from the box that sat on the table beside him. Confused by the gesture I touched my cheeks, and sure enough, felt the wetness of tears. For a moment, I just to stared at the bead of salted water that rested on my finger, feeling indifferent. I dropped my hand in my lap and looked at him as he began once again, with his 'bachelors degree' wisdom,"Where did your troubles really begin? What brought you here to me?"

For anyone else, his words may just have driven the craziness away. I had been through this too many times to know that the crazy was just setting itself aside for the next moment when my distress would be too overwhelming.

With the click of his pen, and the ticking of his clock, a sense of deja vu pecked at me.

"I…was dreaming…"

* * *

**I wanted to delve further into Henry at the now, before going into his story. The purpose of this chapter was to give him a little bit more detail before he tells his entire story, after-all, he won't be heard from again until MUCH later. I had hoped to put more evidence into the fact that the Henry now, is really distraught and mentally unstable because of everything that has happened to him. Going from the monotonous guy he was to the shaking wreck he is now.  
**

**There are two parts I hope you reader's really notice about this chapter though. But that's for you to comment on in a review.  
**


	4. Easy Breathing

**I hope the details in this chapter are sufficient enough apology for being gone for so long. High school is finally about done and for some reason I have an alarming amount of need to write up on Silent Hill. Anyways, here is as promised; an update of Henry's life, the true start of his story.**

**See bottom note for details.**

* * *

It was a murder scene; blood slathered the walls red with dribbles running down to stain the gore covered floor. Spawning from the corners of the room are tangling black webs of puss that pulsate as if alive and creep the drywall like worms. The air is tainted with the sick stench of vomit and copper; an acidic smell that burns both my nose and eyes. As I reach up to rub away the forming tears, contact forces me to cringe and instantly bringing back my hand. Over the tips of nails and fingers there stains spots of black, what should have been salty tears is instead boiling hot tar.

There's a patter, I hold out my palm and wince as drops of black land in center before glancing up at the ceiling it rained from. I stand from the bed as I notice that the ceiling fan has morph into a quad of razor blades, coated in a mix of rust and blood with traces of entrails stuck to it from a slaughter. Suspended only by a gross pink and throbbing cord, the organ like chain sputters and smokes; my only warning to move out of the way before black fluid sprays down from it like a faucet, coating the bed in a thick smoking layer and burning where I once laid.

'What the hell is going on?!' I backed away, stilling as I come in contact with the closed closet doors behind me. There's a soft humming noise before pain suddenly to pounds at my head with a brick. I staggered, cupping my hands over my ears and moan in disorientation. As the humming noise grew louder I realized where it was coming from and turn to grab the closet door knobs and tossing them open.

Hiding in the corner of the small space was what looked to be a sack of flesh. Light making contact, it shifts and writhes, it's humming sound growing louder and blurring my vision before the creature turns in my direction. Its hums turn into screeches and the folds of skin begins to part in clumps; turning and carving into a twisted and monstrous face. Two black slits hollowed in the skin for eyes and a skeletal socket of a nose breathed out a thin mist of blood. Its body was oval with rolls of fat and visible veins. Then the mouth to shape, long and gray it curved around its head and neck before stopping at its engorged stomach with small strings of flesh still connecting the opening.

From underneath its fleshy body, gathered lumps of fat and open scabs; melding together into stubs that creature hobbled on, its weight almost too much for the small limbs to hold. A mass of muscles took shape into a single large arm, longer than the body itself it stretched withed its massive palm laying opened and supporting on the floor, as a kind of crutch. My eyes were wide with horror and my stomach tossed circles as the monster lifted its only hand and pointed a sharp finger at me; claws black and rotting. It gave a grotesque gurgle before spitting up familiar black tar that burned its flesh as it seeped out of its mouth. "Oh god," I gagged and too steps the side as it limped its way out of the closet and towards me. "W-What the hell are you?"

It gave another cough as it tried to reach for me, squirming as I backed out too far out of its reach. Then it threw back its head, give a loud and ear busting scream that had me clutch my head in pain and reaching for the nearby bedroom door handle. As my hand wrapped around the knob the monster gave a lurch before jumping at me. Quickly I maneuvered myself out of the room, barely avoiding a claw, and slammed the door behind me; hearing a loud thump as the creature collided against the other side.

Not even had I removed my hand from the door before hearing a loud click. I jiggled the knob, grunting as it refused to budge, the room had been locked; but how? Opposite of me was another door, one which after having checked, was locked as well. My fearful pants relaxed to deep sighs of anxiety and I began to hear the soft static of an out of signal TV. I turned; looking down the only hallway and made my way across. "Where am I?" I asked, coming out in what looked like my apartment room. "No, this can't be right," It couldn't be my apartment.

The ceiling fan here had disappeared completely, replaced with pulsing gore that hung like cobwebs. Every surface, every wall, every piece of furniture was either blood spattered or rust coated. Separating the living room from the kitchen was the kitchen island; on which laid corroded silverware and maggot infested food. I felt my way around, touching all the misplaced things. The unfamiliar TV rumbled with black and white fuzz on its screen; lighting the ominous room with a dashing flicker. 'Where did all of this come from?' Beside the TV I noticed a chest against the wall, as well as a clock on the opposite side. By the silent and broken clock was a bookshelf, with a series of old books soaked in red. A black box sat on the top shelf, but with no idea what it was I left it alone.

Then I saw the photo, a small picture of a man hanging in a frame on the wall. I didn't recognize him; he was nobody I had ever seen before and yet his picture was on my apartment wall. I slid my hand against the frame, cursing as my head gave a sharp throb of pain that lingered. 'I have to get out of here,' I turned and made for the apartment door, stilling as I saw it literally molded into the wall.

"No," I gasped, feeling against the surface and digging my nails in where there should have been space for the doorframe, "No, no, no, this can't be happening!" I grabbed the door knob, yelping as a shock run up my arm on contact. "What the hell is going on?!" My head began pounding as my breaths picked up in panic; I couldn't get out, why could I get out?!

A cracking sound was heard and the fuzz of the TV's static shut off, followed by the repeated cracking. I slowly turned; head pounding and stomach doing flips. My vision swirled as bright hazy patches began to float in front of my eyes. Over the haze was a series of black webs, forming on the walls. I staggered away from the door, one hand cradling my head and the other grabbing the kitchen island for support. 'Oh god,' the webs weave over the entire room, spreading wall to wall, festering over each surface.

I hear a groan and look to the wall nearest to me, stumbling back at the creature that begins to form. My throat burns as I scream; out of the wall slithers the undead remains of a human body. Its eyes fogged over in a thin white layer of decay, underneath the film I see light blue pupils moving and twitching, looking around before they land on me; it sees me. Its jaw is broken, hanging by hinges and stretched tendons of skin, keeping its mouth forever open. Its skin is disgusting, covered with a mix of pus, blood, and filth, ripped open and exposing layers of aged muscle and bones. Purple and blue vines of veins crawl over its body, and its left leg exposes bone; broken and turned completely backwards.

Finally breaking free from the surface I expected it to fall to the floor, but instead it bends back, spine cracking loudly as it floats, hovering inches over the carpet as if suspended by invisible wires. It writhes in its own blood and afterbirth before giving a series of loud and gasping wheezes, like it couldn't breathe. My knees shake as the ghost dragged for me, reaching with a hand of broken and missing fingers. I hear the faintest of whispers coming from it, coughing like it was an insult. "Joseph…Schrieber," my name; it knows my name.

I fall; knee's squishing against the bloodied rug. 'GET UP!' Instincts scream but no matter how much I want to run, I can't move. It's as if something's holding me down; there's a weight of fear and in my gut, hysteric gasps for air and screams leaving my mouth. I feel hot tears and sweat streaming down my cheeks and skin. My legs are numb; unmoving, I can do nothing as the thing climbs over the kitchen bar stools and reaches for me with heavy grunts and moans.

The entire room around me convulses and suddenly it's too hot, suddenly the airs too thick, suddenly there's too much noise. The windows slam loudly, shuddering against their sills and breaking, from their cracked glass surface dribbles blood and black bugs that cricket like roaches. There's an intense and crazed ticking sound, like a bomb, before I hear a long and ominous chime of a clock and then the spring of its gears breaking under the speed. Roaring static returns and echoes from the TV; the volume is too loud, its chorus of buzzing joins the rest of the noise. All is drowned by the hoarse and inhuman wail of the ghost man as he crawls up my body, touches sending jolts of insane cold through my nerves.

Its crusted fingers grip my face, digging into my cheeks and poisoning me. I choke on my own pained scream as I feel myself being frozen solid from the side out, starting in my cheeks the venom runs down my blood vessels to my neck, my arms, my legs, then two things happen at once: the ghost opens its already broken jaws apart; wide growing as the creature gurgles and stretches itself. The venom inside me crawls closer and closer to my chest; to my heart, and when it reaches the organ my scream is cut off by the phantom swallowing me whole.

The room engulfs me.

* * *

The sound of my own screaming is my alarm clock and quickly I throw my arms out at the quickly approaching floor. Successfully knocking my elbow and wrist against the bedside table, I hit the carpet with a loud thud and groan in mild pain.

Rather than getting up, I just lay on the floor. Moving at the moment is likely to make me throw up; my stomach's already turning from the flashing images of the nightmare. My body quakes, taking deep breaths I let them out in shuddered sighs. Covered in a thick layer of cold sweat my shirt sticks to my skin and my boxers are uncomfortable against me. It's not until the light headed feeling goes away that I try to stand; limbs shaking and body protesting in a mix of fear, adrenaline, and all around tiredness.

Going against walking I sit down on the edge of the bed and sigh, bringing my hand up to push through my hair only to stop when I see that I can barely keep from shaking. "Dammit," I curse and go ahead to soothing my hair out of my face, cupping the back of my neck after. "That damned dream again," I set both my hands in my lap and bow my head. To calm down I listened to the above ceiling fan, putting my breathing in time with its soft clicking. The action helped to relax my body and I tightly close my eyes to rub them before looking up at the ceiling, whispering in relief when all I see is a plain white surface.

Outside I hear the honks of traffic and the hammering of construction from five blocks down. I glance towards the windows, blinds closed, and only shards of sunlight peeking through. Feeling confident enough to get up, I make my way over to them and pull the string, wincing as the light shined directly on my face. I adjust the lock and let go to rub at my face, groaning in the morning slump.

"This makes day five." I mentally counted off. I scratched my side and moved to the closet; planning to get dressed, but as my hand wrapped around the closet doorknob I hesitated. A bead of cold sweat crawled down the back of my neck, making the hairs stand on end. 'Calm down,' I thought and took a deep relaxing breath, letting it out as I pulled open the doors and met a simple cardboard box, three pairs of pants and five shirts, and a lost sock in the corner.

"And not a single monster in sight," I joked before letting my face fall with a low sigh; the attempt to lighten myself up had failed, and I was back to feeling sluggish and heavy. I grabbed a pair of a jeans and a clean shirt, changing and tossing my dirty closes in the cardboard 'laundry' box, closing the closet door after finishing.

I glanced over to the bedside table and the phone that rested silently on it. It had been a routine I had started; get up, get dressed, check all variables. I sat down against at the edge of the bed and picked up the phone; dialing the same 911 number I had, _day in_ and _day out_. It doesn't work, of course; I hadn't expected it to. I return the handset and reach for the back cord. Wrapping it around my fingers; I twirl the snapped frayed end and count the second. Almost five pass before the phone jumps with its classical chime. I take the first three rings to breathe and prepare myself then picked it up and held it to my ear. What would it be this time; a deep growl, a ghostly wailing?

My body tenses in preparation, "Hello?" I know better than getting the hopes up that it could actually be Frank.

It's gurgled, forced as if in pain; I recognize that it's a woman, "Help…Me." Before I can reply or even ask any questions the line goes into a chorus of electrical disturbance then dies out completely into silence. I gave up, slammed the phone back onto the receiver, and stood from the bed to make my way out of the room. _Day in_ and _day out_, it's the same thing over and over. I stepped out into the hallway and went for the room directly across, shutting the door behind me.

The bathroom wasn't clean as it could be; tiles slightly grimy due to the effect of the light, toilet plagued by hard water stains, and bathtub harassed by faint soap scum. Granted, the room was filthy but it could stand for a little bleaching. The bath mat was in place neatly in front of the shower/tub with a nicely filled towel cabinet over the wall just next to it.

I don't bother with taking a shower; it's amazing enough that the hot water still even runs and I don't want to waste it. Instead I settle to look myself over in the steam stained mirror, a depressing reflection stares back at me. Five o' clock stubbles my chin, I decide against shaving it. My eyes are circled by a sleepless shadow and cheeks are slightly red from the remains of a midnight fever. The countless amount of biting to my lips has caused them to be chapped and pale and despite of that; I keep biting them.

This is me; Henry Townshend.

I let loose a small groan and turn on the water to wash my face; the cold suits me just fine. I palm my eyes, and shiver as the icy water runs over my hot cheeks and forehead; the smell of last night's sweat quickly goes away. 'Much better,' I think and grab the sink towel on its rank to the left, drying off my face.

I sigh and turn off the faucet; it was small relief but relief none the less. With that thought it mind I entered back into the hall and walked down for the living room. Each step was harder than the last; I dragged my feet over the carpet watching the fibers sweep as I did. Just at the edge of the hallway I had stopped to swallow the knot in my throat. I closed my eyes, 'Just a dream.' I thought-wished, 'It was just a dream.' Then, I turned the corner and open my eyes.

A small choked sob works its way out of my mouth; catching halfway in my throat it breaks it into a trembled and pathetic wheeze. 'Day five,' I clench my fists hard enough for my knuckles to turn white and force my legs to work.

The chains are cold and solid against my palms, unmoving against the hard pulls that I give. They clatter against their padlocks and bolts, scraping across the door when I let them go. I settle my head against the oak, closing my eyes and gave another weak sigh, suddenly more exhausted than ever. 'Five days since I had the first nightmare and I still can't get out of this room.'

I knock my forehead against the wood in thought, jolting only when I hear the sound of breaking glass. I blink at first, thinking my ears might be playing tricks on me. 'It wouldn't be the first time,' then I hear crunching. "What the-?" I place one hand on the door knob and the other against the frame, closing one eye to look out the peephole.

I see short brown hair and a pink and white striped tank top. Eileen Galvin, my next door neighbor. The breaking glass I had heard seemed to be from her grocery shopping. She's bending over to grab some of her dropped things, a brown paper bag in her arms that's bottom is completely ripped out. I tighten my hold on the doorknob when she parts some of her hair behind her ears, I want to try calling out but I knew she wouldn't hear me. 'None of the neighbors hear me, I could take a jackhammer to this door and they still wouldn't hear me.' I let go of the knob, groan at the same time she does.

"I hope my luck changes before the party." I blink at what she had said and find myself chuckling.

"She's having a party and I'm stuck in my apartment, that figures." Not like I would have gone, people and parties don't fit right with my nerves but then again I'm stuck in my apartment with my door chained from the inside, and I'm thinking about nerves? I let out a sigh and hold my eye back to the hole, Eileen was gone but I noticed something odd in her place.

"Are those…handprints?" Those weren't there before, not that I can remember. On the wall is a series of faint red handprints, one of which looks faintly fresh. Trails of crimson paint dribble down the wall from the palms and the fingers are spread widely. I count them up; about fifteen in total. I couldn't really see Frank having a taste for the décor so, why would they be there? Better yet, who put them there?

I gave up the thought to hang my head and pinch bridge between my eyes, practically feeling the tension in my muscle. I already had too much to worry about; I didn't need to think on some kids finger-painting project.

I then find myself staring at a slip of paper that's beside my feet, half tucked under the bottom crack of the door. I raise a brow and pick it up, flipping it over and holding it up to the light to read. My eyebrows rise at the sight of red crayon, messily scribbled in five year olds handwriting.

'Mom, why doesn't u Wake up?'

By the time I lower my gaze I have to flinch back at the sudden appearance of something new; dark red, the same as the hands on the wall and the crayon on the slip of paper in my hands. It stains the white wood in smears the looks like it was done with a finger rather than a pen or marker; manuscript with a cursive 'g' and two times the exclamation, signed almost neatly at the bottom.

Don't go Out!  
Walter

* * *

**Five pages of detailed gore and monotonous morning habits. Isn't that wonderful? I hope you all enjoyed, granted I would have made this chapter a little longer but I felt it would drag it a bit and found this place excellent for wrapping up.**

**The first part is obviously in Josephs POV, as it starts out in the game. I wanted to add some gore and features to the room when it was 'possessed' just for the sake of trying my hand out at some blood writing. If it went well please let me know, if you have any advice please point it out. We'll get to more 'active' stuff in the next chapter, I can't say when that will be but don't hold your breath.**

**V**

**See that box?**

**V**

**Please fill it.**

**V**


End file.
